PATRICK!!!! I moved in more closely. It was Patrick! I stormed over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He looked up at me, but before his face could even register surprise, I yelled, “WHAT THE FUCK?”
Totally nonplussed, the raven-haired goddess turned to Patrick and said, almost as if she was bored, “Do you know her?”
“It’s not like we’re exclusive,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or me.
“You stood me up for Sun City for this?” I yelled.
“You were going with HER to an old folks’ home?” the evil siren laughed. “That’s rich.” I started feeling foolish, and before either of them could say anything else, I stomped off. Without my phone I couldn’t text Artemis, and the bouncers wouldn’t let anyone backstage (where I’m guessing the burlesque girls were still in various stages of undress), so I waited outside in front of the 29th Street Ballroom for a while, hoping I could spot her. Then I started worrying Patrick and the girl would come out together, so I just gave up and left.
When I arrived home, the furballs went crazy to see me, but for once it didn’t feel like anywhere near enough. I normally would have cried, but the combined memory of that butterscotch lube and Patrick kissing the sexy burlesque girl literally dried up even my tear ducts. I am destined to spend my naturally juicy years with one dog, one cat, and—now that I’m on strike from the overpowering merman—my own pointer finger.
Self-pityingly,
Roxy
P.S. Everett, why am I complaining to you about my loneliness and celibacy? You are fingerbanging multiple women daily in a meditation designed to raise female sexual energy. There is no way you could possibly relate to my current plight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
September 5, 2012
Dear Everett,
Last night, alone, still feeling jilted and in despair, I decided to watch the TED Talk of Nest Life founder and self-proclaimed sexual visionary Nina Sylvester. That woman may be a cult leader and nut, but she is certainly an eloquent, attractive, and convincing one. There she is owning the stage with her silky hair and power-lady sheath dress that would have made Gayle King proud, describing the first time she convinced a guy to stroke her clit to a fifteen-minute timer. Somehow this seminal stroker intuited he should begin the session by telling her that her vagina looked like a rose in bloom, which caused her to have a spiritual experience. “I wept,” she said.
At that point I was like “Ack! Bitch, please. This isn’t ‘The Color Purple.’ I don’t want to hear you weeping about your damn labia. Celie earned it. You haven’t earned shit.”
Then Nina described how the guy went on to lube up his finger and slowly stroke her clit. She said he did it with a touch no firmer than one you would use to stroke the “tender skin of a ball sack.” Gross! Clearly she’d thought through that description and used it like a hundred thousand times. She was really pleased with herself and I was really not on board. But then she said: “Nothing much happened at first. I was just envisioning past and imaginary erotic scenarios, trying to get myself in the mood. I wasn’t really there.”
Everett, that’s when I perked up. I’ve read so much literotica that sometimes when I have sex I just play those stories through my head instead of really being present with what’s actually happening.
This is where things took a turn.
Nina honed in on what was going on in her mind during that seminal fingerbang. “I was replaying a sexual fantasy I have where I’m The Bachelorette and any guy I give the rose to has to do whatever I want. I was a thousand miles away.”
The audience was laughing hard and I was too. Then she went in for the kill.
“But suddenly that story, that fantasy dropped away completely,” she said. “I was absolutely and completely in my body. I was present for what was happening to me. I was completely open to each and every sensation. And for the first time ever in my adult life I was totally tuned in to the wavelength of another human being. I was no longer lonely and isolated and ravenous for connection. For once I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be.”
I felt my eyes well up.
I want that connection.
After a year of celibacy followed by some fun (but certainly NOT clit-centric sex) with Patrick, I want to feel what it’s